


Dig In

by ShippingAllShips



Series: Tomarry/Harrymort [19]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, but like a grim fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingAllShips/pseuds/ShippingAllShips
Summary: Harry has come down with a mysterious illness, one that makes food taste like ash in his mouth. Tom, his loving husband, desperately searches for a way to cure him. And he may have found the one thing his husband can eat.





	Dig In

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Cybrid for betaing! I'm still so offended you said this Tom would collect figurines!

“My love?” Tom called, lightly knocking on the door. “It’s time for dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry,” was the soft reply from within. Tom sighed. Harry was never hungry anymore and Tom could understand why. He wouldn’t be hungry if everything tasted like ashes on his tongue either.

“I know, but you must try to eat,” Tom said softly. “I’ve prepared something special for you myself. I’m sure you’ll like this.”

There was a moment of silence. “Alright, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Tom nodded at that, turning to leave. “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

*~*

The marriage between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle had been a bit of a scandal. Harry had been born a slave and sold to Tom’s father, who gifted him to Tom on his eighteenth birthday. His father had hinted gone on to say, with no amount of subtlety, that Harry was his slave to do with as he would and he would surely be useful for  _ other  _ things. 

Tom had admittedly been cold at first, though he refused to use Harry for other things aside chores and a personal assistant; he found it undignified to force oneself on another and rather lowly to bed someone who couldn’t refuse. Harry seemed relieved that Tom had no other uses for him, the most personal having been helping Tom bathe.

He was an interesting slave, Tom would admit. A bit bullheaded and stubborn, a trait rarely found in someone of his position and  had the wrong temperament for this life . It made for great entertainment, watching the journey his face made every time Tom gave him an order he didn’t agree with before settling on acceptance.

It was probably what had attracted Tom to him so much and had ensnared his curiosity about his slave’s past. He wanted to know everything about him and Harry was obligated to tell him whatever Tom asked.

Soon, he found his curiosity turning to obsession. He had been possessive of Harry before— he was  _ Tom’s _ slave and no one else's— but it had become something more. Something that Tom found himself treasuring and wanting to protect. He wanted Harry to be his, in mind, body, and soul, until the day he died. And Tom knew one way to ensure this.

He had informed Harry that they were going to be married and that he would be educated on how to act properly. He had been delighted when Harry had not objected to this, seeming just as happy to marry him as Tom was. Of course, it could all have been faked, but Tom didn’t care much anymore. All that mattered was tying Harry to him in every way that mattered.

He already had Harry outfitted in the finest clothes money could buy and the wedding planned when his father finally stepped in to object harshly. 

Tom couldn’t possibly marry a  _ slave _ , it was far too beneath him and scandalous, and Tom had agreed with that. It would be a bit strange and so he had set Harry’s papers aflame in front of them, effectively setting Harry free from his servitude.

Tom had continued on with his plans from there, seeing as Harry had not objected to the union now that he could. He seemed just as happy as he had been before, if not more now that he wasn’t legally able to be bought.

His father had vanished the day before the wedding and there had been talk of murder. Tom had paid no mind to it all, taking care to keep Harry out of earshot of such things. It would do no good for their special day to be ruined by pesky rumors.

With Tom’s status and wealth, he could easily buy the police’s silence, if they ever chose to investigate. They could even search his manor and grounds if they liked and they would never find a body, he had taken care to ensure that. What he had done with his father, no one would ever find him and Harry would never know.

And so, their happy marriage began.

*~*

Harry finally arrived in the dining room five minutes later, clutching the arm of their butler for support. He was growing weaker with each day, his body unable to get the nutrients it craved but steadily rejected. Soon he would have to be carried, something that Tom knew Harry wouldn’t allow; he was too proud for such things now, something that Tom found funny for an ex-slave.

He was guided to his seat and was helped to settle. He thanked the man, who bowed lowly before making his exit. Tom could see a tiny drop of red on his shirt and rolled his eyes. The man would have to be punished for staining his clothes, something that Tom frowned upon. He spent good money on his servant's uniforms and did not like for them to dirty them so carelessly.

“How are you feeling?” Tom asked, pouring Harry a glass of water. Water was all he could stand to drink.

Harry made a noise and lightly poked at the meat on his plate with his fork, disinterested. 

He looked like a skeleton sitting there, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame and his face sunken in on itself. Tom pursed his lips as he slid Harry his drink. He hoped Harry would be able to stomach this. They were out of options at this point.

*~*

This strange illness had started a few years into their marriage. It had been subtle, a slow decline in Harry’s appetite which had continued until his birthday. They had a private celebration and the chief had prepared him a large vanilla cake, Harry’s favorite flavor. However, when Harry had taken the first bite, he had spat the cake out. 

“It tastes like ash.” Harry had said, looking distraught and wiping his tongue with his hands, despite how undignified it was.

Tom had taken a bite himself and found it simply tasted like vanilla if a bit too sweet. He had told Harry so and Harry had looked more distressed. He took a sip of wine to clear the taste and had spit that out as well.

It had been a slow decline after that. First sweets and fine dishes, a few months later stews and bread, then uncooked vegetables and fruit. Even strange things, like flowers and leaves and clay, had been tried, all wielding the same results. All that was left for Harry to eat was meat, served bloody and pink. Tom could see tell that those were going to be rejected soon, Harry grimacing last night as he ate his meal. 

There was one thing left that they hadn’t tried to give Harry, something that he knew Harry would recoil at the thought of eating. But, it was the only thing that they had yet to try. Tom just hoped it would work.

Meat was meat, no matter what it came from.

*~*

Harry was looking at his plate dubiously, still poking at it. Tom had been sure to only put meat on it while his own plate had vegetables. His husband may be unable to eat, but that didn’t mean Tom had to restrain himself as well; it wouldn’t do to have both of them in poor health.

“Meat isn’t tasting very good lately. I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat it.” Harry said uncertainly but still picked up his knife.

“You should try,” Tom said gently, giving Harry a smile that was hesitantly returned.

“Alright. Don’t be too mad if I can’t though. I know you worked hard on this.”

With that, Harry cut a small piece and brought it to his mouth.

*~*

Tom begun his plan early in the morning after he had kissed Harry and left him to his business. Most days, it consisted of him sitting on his bed and reading, far too weak for anything else. It made Tom’s heart ache and his resolve strengthen.

The gardener had been easy to lure into a secluded part of the grounds. He was a desperate man, his wife having left him a while ago, and, seeing as his husband was wasting away before his eyes, assumed Tom was just as desperate. It had only taken a few sweet words and suggestive looks, and the man was all too eager to follow him. Killing him had been surprisingly easy, given his size and mass, but Tom was far more skilled than most gave him credit and the man had been to blinded by lust, enraptured by Tom’s pale skin and come-hither smile.

A knife to the side of his neck and a quick slice across. Messy, but quick and effective. He didn’t mind if these clothes got bloody anyway, he had been meaning to get rid of them for a while now. It would be unclouth for a man of his status to be seen in last season’s fashions.

Cleaning the body was similar to cleaning a deer. The smell was the same and the organs were around the same size if a bit smaller. Of course, one did not gut a deer while it was lying down, but Tom had little time to waste stringing the man up. He simply cut into the man’s flesh and pulled out what he needed from within, taking care to not rupture the intestines or stomach.

If this worked well, he would still have use for his innards. Liver tasted divine when stewed, not so much when covered in stomach acid.

Dismembering the man was just as easy, having had plenty of practice on the day of his wedding. Cutting through flesh, forcefully breaking bones and snapping tendons, pulling bones from the joints. The man was reduced to nothing but a limbless carcass in minutes, each part his limbs cut into more carriable parts. He only needed one of them this time. He was only feeding two people, not a room full of guests.

He chose the thigh, easy enough to season and roast whole. Perhaps he could turn the other one into steaks if Harry was able to eat it. Harry had certainly enjoyed it the last time Tom had served it.

“Have Lestrange go to the edge of the grounds. There is something there I need him to take care of. Tell him to bring several bags and he will understand,” Tom ordered the maid when he encountered her outside, heading back to the manor with his meat.

She had nodded, wild curls bouncing as she ran off to fetch one of them. Tom didn’t care which one she picked to do the task, as they both would know what to do.

He entered the kitchen and ignored the inquisitive look the cook threw his way, setting the bag on the counter.

“Leave. I’ll be preparing dinner tonight.” He ordered the chief and the man bowed before taking his leave. The man did not question his bloody clothes and dripping bag, just as Tom knew he wouldn’t. All servants of Riddle manor operated on a need-to-know basis and if Tom never offered an explanation they would never ask for it.

He opened the cabinet and pulled out a large pan, setting it on the counter before searching through the pantry for spices and wine. He hoped the spices wouldn’t upset Harry’s palate too much, but if he was going to be eating it as well, it would need some seasoning.

*~*

The look on Harry’s face was something Tom would treasure until he died. Pleasure, pure and unhindered, shining in his widening eyes and the smile making its way onto his face.

“It’s delicious!” he said, so happy and eager, forgoing his fork to shove the whole piece into his mouth. 

Tom smiled at that, even if it was a bit undignified. “I’m glad. It was the only thing we haven’t tried.”

He watched as Harry devoured his food and he carefully picked at his own food, a bit slower and with controlled. It was expected that Harry was so eager to eat, finally having something that didn’t taste like ash in his mouth, though Tom wished he would be a little less messy. Blood and juice were starting to drip down his chin and hands, staining his clothes and the tablecloth, and Tom was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself from ravishing his husband on the table. 

He needed to eat first and once he had his fill, then Tom could ravish him. If only he didn’t look so attractive covered in blood.

He watched Harry reach for his glass and down it in two gulps, letting out a satisfied sigh as he slammed the glass back onto the table.

“What’s this called?” Harry panted out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and Tom licked his own lips.

“Long pig. We served it at our wedding, remember?” Tom asked, shifting in his seat to relieve the pressure in his lower half. 

Harry’s eyes lit up. “I thought it tasted familiar. But, you said it was hard to come by.”

“It takes a while to properly rear, yes. But this was a special delivery,” Tom said, smiling at Harry. “And I’ve managed to secure a rather large one this time. It should last us the rest of the week.”

“What about afterward?” Harry asked, already reaching for the knife to carve himself another piece.

Tom smiled. He could understand Harry’s anxiety, having the only thing he’s been able to eat in months so cruelly ripped from him. But Tom wasn’t going to let that happen. “I can get us more. And if I can’t get one fully grown, I can just get a few younger ones. I hear their meat is much more tender and succulent anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know or think I made this up, long pig is slang for human meat.


End file.
